


Of Dragons, Aliens and Players

by animefreak



Series: Caleb Moorecock Arc [1]
Category: Renegade (TV), UFO | Gerry Anderson's UFO
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapping Ed Straker never works out well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Dragons, Aliens and Players

Of Dragons, Aliens and Players

Xover: UFO/Raven/Renegade

Disclaimer: As always, all things UFO belong to Century 21 productions, Gerry and/or Sylvia Anderson, and whoever else owns a piece of the action. 

Tanaka Clan, Osato Hiroshi, Jonathan Raven and Ski borrowed from Raven and will be respectfully returned to point of origin just as soon as I can remember what it was. 

Cheyenne Phillips gratefully absconded with from Renegade, which belongs to USA Network, Stu Segall productions and Stephen J Cannell. 

Ah, for reference, since I dislike most of the 1980's except for three highpoints (marriage, two kids) I've swung the time line so that SHADO was established as a going concern around 1990. That makes Straker (quick calculation – hmmm – ok, mid forties. I'm being arbitrary. And it keeps him close to Caleb who is early 40's and makes the tech just that much closer to home )

Tanaka Hideoshi, Osato Makiko and Caleb Moorecock are the brainchildren of dragon. (ok, no more comments about the state of the brain) If you'd like to abuse them, please ask. Not for profit. Just for fun.

Time: The present  
Place: England  
Rating: Currently unrated.  
Synopsis: Never kidnap the head of Harlington-Straker Studios. Very little will go right.

 

Of Dragons, Aliens and Players

The petit Japanese girl with the spiky hair cut leaned on the overstuffed arm of the couch and surveyed her companion. He was tall and lean with lots of lovely muscles shifting just under the skin. His hair was black, velvety black, and curly, but not too curly. She loved the way it fanned out around his head when he wasn't wearing it slicked back or pony tailed to control it. She loved the way he moved, too. Like some big, dangerous cat. She smiled. He didn't notice. She pouted. He finished inspecting his cummerbund and ignored her.

"Hey."

He looked around at her, his eyes dark pools of almost black brown under winging black brows. One of the brows cocked upward slightly. "Yes?" There was just a touch of the American South in his words.

"You're ignoring me," she pointed out.

"I'm getting dressed."

Pout. "Yeah. You get to go to a shindig with all those pretty girls."

"Starlets."

Her face began to assume a mulish look. "Starlets. *Lots* of starlets."

He finished tying his immaculate bowtie. He nodded. Perfect. He looked around at her again and smiled. "Yes."

"Yes!" she practically shrieked, bouncing up from her previously languid pose. "Yes! You – You –" she descended abruptly into gutter Japanese to describe him, his antecedents and any deities or other entities that had the poor judgment to support his family in their endeavors. 

For a moment, his face froze. Then he relaxed, took the few steps it took to cover the distance between them and pulled the still cussing girl into his arms. His mouth silenced hers. She struggled for a moment before melting into the hard mastering kiss. When she emerged a few moments later, she was breathless. Her long, narrow black eyes widened as she gazed up into his face. 

"So, starlets?"

He let her go with a laugh. "Starlets. Of no interest to me tonight."

"Just tonight?"

He shot her a look. "*Just* tonight."

She flumped back down on the couch, arms folded under her small, tense breasts. She shifted slightly. Damn the man. He always did this to her. All promise and no play. The heavy silk of her black on black embroidered kimono was insisting all sorts of sensual reactions, and he was getting dressed to go out. She leaned over the arm of the couch again. "Can I come with?" she pleaded.

"No. We discussed this already."

"You discussed. I listened." She turned onto her back with another flump. The kimono parted invitingly. She looked down. OK. Maybe worn blue jeans with the knees out and a tank top t-shirt under the kimono weren't as alluring as other items could be. England was cold. "You hate me."

That got a laugh. She fumed for a moment, then got up as silently as she could and stalked him as a cat would a mouse; all silence and taut muscles. He fielded her attack with the ease of practice. She struggled. 

"You'll wrinkle my coat."

"Good. I hate your coat."

"Do you? Then you will be spared the sight of me in it for the evening." He dropped her on the thick Persian carpet next to the bed, grabbed up his keys and strolled out while she was working on her response. 

Crash. Something heavy and solid hit the door as it closed behind him. For just a moment, he considered delaying the task ahead long enough to go back and spank the girl until she could not sit down. His mouth twitched. She'd probably enjoy it.

Ten minutes after he walked into the elevator at the end of the hallway, two men with broad shoulders and Oriental faces stepped out into the hallway. They looked cautiously around them before walkingdown the hallway, checking each door carefully. They approached the door of the suite occupied by the man and the oriental girl just as the door was flung open and the girl lunged into the hallway. She'd decided a quiet evening alone was not a good idea. She caught sight of the two men and changed her mind. With a shriek, she threw herself back into the room, slamming the door and trying desperately to get the key to turn in the lock.

Thud. Crash. The door flew open and tossed her back into the room. She landed in a heap. Before she could get to her feet, or even organized enough to try to scramble away, the leader of the two men had her by the scruff of the neck and was dragging her up. His hand was like a vise on her neck. She stilled, watching him with wide eyes. She'd changed into a tight, figure hugging bustier style top over a pair of not so ragged jeans. The man's eyes traveled over her, taking in every detail from the smooth skin of the two small mounds of her nearly exposed breasts to the tightly fabric hugged juncture of legs and belly. He smiled.

// Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Caleb where the hell are you. // came the first frantic thought. Then she was glad Caleb wasn't there. She recognized the second man. She had seen him before. He worked for her father. She suspected that however provocatively they might look at her and paw her that was as far as it would go. You did not rape the daughter of a Yakuza Clan head. She amended that thought. Not when you worked for the same obayun. If they worked for someone else—she restrained a shudder. 

"So, where's dad?" she asked somewhat breathlessly.

Not far away, as the crow flies, another tall, lean man was quietly fuming behind his desk. He finished the report he was reading and filed it neatly away, leaving his desk bare of everything except the blotter, his cigar box and his phone. He glowered at the desk. The intercom buzzed.

"Yes?"

"Your limo is here, sir."

"Thank you." 

His secretary, a jewel of a patient woman, smiled as she flicked the off switch. Somehow, he hadn't sounded particularly pleased. A stocky man, with a face that might have benefited from exfoliation down to the bone, caught the smile. He smiled in return, his eyes twinkling. Whatever Alec Freeman lacked in beauty, he made up in bulldog tenacity and his genuine concern about his boss. 

"Ready to go?"

"No."

"Limo here?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Let me." He walked across the office and was admitted to the boss man's office.

He looked the man behind the desk up and down. "You're not dressed."

That was a look. 

"Change your mind?" he asked conversationally.

"No."

"You're going to be late."

"It's fashionable," the other ground out.

Alec laughed. "Ed, you've got to put in an appearance. You've ignored the last six of these affairs. You'd think you weren't in the movie making business." The remark did not appear to sit well.

Then the man's glare softened. "All right. I'll change and go."

"You might even enjoy it."

"Doubtful."

"Taking anyone with you?"

"No."

Alec's eyebrows rose. "Brave."

Ed glowered at him, but it didn't last. His lips twitched slightly and he lost his composure. "No. A good reason to put in an appearance, talk to a few people and leave."

"All right."

"How do I look?"

"Star quality."

Ed snorted at that. He picked up his evening overcoat and left. Alec lifted the lid of the cigar box and very clearly stated his name. The door behind him sealed and he felt the slight motion of the massive elevator beginning its descent. The door unsealed as the room settled at the bottom of the shaft. He walked out into a shiny metal hallway with an imposing plaque that read S.H.A.D.O. – Supreme Headquarters Alien Defense Organization. He nodded to the attractive, catsuited woman waiting to escort him in. Once again, he requested blessings to be showered upon the designer of the uniforms worn by most of the SHADO operatives. It was such a nice change from fatigues.

Above, Ed Straker, the man at the top of Harlington-Straker Studios, settled into the back seat of the limo and tried to relax so he could at least look like he was enjoying himself. The charity gala to which he was being forced to go was for a charity he supported. There would be a lot of big names in the industry there. And a lot of small ones looking for the right contact. Everyone would be looking at him like hungry piranha at a bleeding cow.

He walked into the affair and blinked. Lights. Lots and lots of lights. Lots and lots of people working very hard to be seen with the right other people. He sighed, straightened his shoulders and greeted his hostess and host with a standard smile plastered to his face. He stayed with them the required ten minutes and then began to wander. If he was lucky, he could get some alcohol free punch or water at the buffet table and then take half an hour to wander back to the door, collect his coat and go.

The man with the leonine head of black hair in the immaculate tux had been admitted on his forged invitation without a second glance. He had the easy good looks of a film star coupled with a smile and a word for everyone he passed. With a glass of champagne held negligently in his left hand for color, he left them thinking they knew they'd met him before, but they just weren't certain where.

His eyes roved the glittering crowd, searching; certain he’d arrived before his quarry. Straker was notorious for arriving just on the edge of insultingly late. That was odd for a man with a studio always teetering on the edge of breaking. But that was not his concern. His concern was finding Straker and delivering the goods to the buyer. Ah. There he was, just greeting the host and hostess. Now, if his research was correct, the pale haired man would do the standard five to ten minutes and then wander toward the buffet. Bingo. See how easy – he stopped the thought as it tried to cross his mind. He moved on an oblique course toward the buffet table.

Straker nodded to those he knew, dropping a greeting here or there and made it to the buffet just about on his timetable. Water. Lots of water. Sometimes he wished that Perrier had never made the transition from acquired taste to necessary accoutrement. He nodded to the server and acquired a glass. He sipped it, enjoying the cool of the liquid sliding down his throat. He turned to survey the crowd and discovered he had been joined. 

Blue eyes under very pale brows met dark under black brows. The man was charismatic. He was also within Straker's defined personal boundaries, although not too far within them. What bothered was that he had not noticed the man approaching. None of his usual warning signals had gone off until he turned. He very deliberately took a drink while keeping his eyes locked on the other man.

The other smiled. "Mr. Straker, I believe." The touch of Deep South to the words was attractive.

"Yes." Out of habit he offered his hand, transferring the glass to his left. "And you are?"

"Moorecock. Caleb Moorecock." The gaze shifted slightly and returned as they shook hands. A good firm grip. Not too tight. Not trying to prove anything. He smiled revealing very white teeth, not quite the perfect Hollywood smile, but nice.

"Mr. Moorecock. You're American."

"As are you. Boston?"

"Yes." Pleased surprise and wariness warred within. "And you would hail from someplace south of the Mason-Dixon line."

"Louisiana. A little more – cosmopolitan than Atlanta or Birmingham."

"Yes. What brings you here?"

"A small part in a stage production. I've found myself oddly locked out of the film industry. I'm not certain whether it's the accent, or the stage presence. I thought I'd see what sort of contacts I could make here."

"Well, I'm not a casting director."

"True enough. But you could point me in the right direction to send my portfolio."

"Yes." 

Both sets of eyes traversed the room and came back to point. Straker felt a chill creep under his skin. This was no actor. He was suddenly certain of that. The man was too smooth, too – dangerous. He took another drink of his water. Just as he swallowed he caught a hint of an aftertaste that wasn't Perrier. His gaze flashed to the other man. Was that a hint of triumph in his eyes?

"Finished? Allow me." He reached out and took the glass from Straker's grasp. Ed tried to resist, glaring at the man. "Let go." He did. Damn. What had this man slipped him? What could work this fast? He stood there as Caleb set the glass on the table. The dark eyes met his again. A faint smile curved his lips. 

"I think we’ll just go for a nice stroll, Mr. Straker." He slid an arm through Straker's as though they were old friends. As much as he wanted to resist, Straker seemed to have lost all personal volition. "Ah-ah. No distractions, Mr. Straker. Just nice and easy. A smile, a nod, maybe a 'hello'. After all, you weren't really planning on staying that long, were you?"

He glared at Caleb, willing his arm to disengage. No luck. His body responded to the directions his captor was giving. He was doing his usual job of making minimal contact with people. It was expected. He was Straker, of Harlington-Straker studios, the most standoffish producer in England. Sometimes reputations weren't as useful as one wished.

Caleb walked his prisoner out to his car. He loaded Straker into the back seat and told him to stay down, tossing a soft dark blanket over the prone man. Then he got into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the car park. He looked in the rearview mirror as he pulled out to see another vehicle pulling out. He frowned. The small, indeterminately colored vehicle disturbed him. He decided to make like a wild goose through the streets of London. He realized this was not the most reasonable thing to do with a kidnapped studio executive in his back seat, but he had a very ominous feeling about the following vehicle.

The driver of the car following him placed a cell phone call after the fourth turn Caleb made. “He has noticed us.”

“Continue to goad him. He will come to us.”

“As you wish.”

Realizing that he was not shaking the tail he’d acquired, Caleb took a chance and pulled into the car park of the hotel where he was staying. He killed the lights, pulled into a parking place in a darkened area of the underground facility and shut down the engine. There was something really disturbing about the car following him and he wanted to know what it was, now.

He eased out of the car, leaving the door partially open behind him as he crept back along the length to see what his pursuers were doing. They were not connected to his prisoner. He was certain of that. The car drove slowly up the aisle, as though checking for something. Of course, they were checking for something. They were looking for his car. His mouth thinned into a straight line. Cautiously, he checked the cars to either side for an open door. Nothing.

He moved to the next car over. Locked. Damn. The other vehicle passed where he had parked and went on. He watched it go down the aisle and frowned at it. Odd. He’d had an impression that there were more people in the car – Snick. He ducked something metallic that continued on to hit the brick wall behind him. He stayed down, moving toward the wall and the missile. His fingers found it. Small, round, with four equally spaced points coming out of it. A throwing star. A shiriken. Great. That could only mean one thing.

“Mr. Moorecock.” A male voice with a touch of accent called his name. “Mr. Moorecock, we know you are in here. You might as well make it easy on both of us.”

Silence. He moved back to his own vehicle. There was no way of telling how many of them were out and about. He checked his prisoner. Glare. He almost chuckled. No lack of spirit in Mr. Straker. Probably a good thing. 

“Mr. Moorecock.” The voice was closer. 

Caleb pulled his favorite .45 semi-automatic pistol from its concealed holster. “Yes?”

Silence. As though several people had suddenly decided breathing could be put on hold. “Ah, so you are still here. Will you be so good as to come out?”

“Why should I? As of now, I have the advantage.”

A laugh. “Not much of an advantage. There are many of us, Mr. Moorecock. Only one of you. Sooner or later, we will take you.”

“I prefer later. Now, why don’t y’all just back away from my car and let me get on with my business?”

“You have no business, Mr. Moorecock.” A second voice, more accented and more deadly sounding than the first. 

Damn. Tanaka. That was going to make life difficult. Didn’t the damn Yakuza ever give up? And what the hell were they doing in London? Had they followed him? No. That was paranoid idiocy. They were probably here to try to cement better relations with the local clans. Spotting him was – luck. Pure luck. He eased the safety off.

“I have business, Tanaka. You are getting in the way of that business. I am armed.”

“Of course. So are we.”

“Stalemate.”

“Not precisely. I believe we also have something in which you have an interest.” A gasp of breath. The sound was feminine, not male. 

“Can’t imagine what.”

“Caleb-san! Run!” The sound of a hand striking a face immediately followed the warning.

"Miki," he muttered under his breath. His response was cool. “Tanaka! I suspect Osato will not be pleased if you damage his daughter much. Lowers her price.”

“If I have to beat the disobedient woman bloody, I will. Do you care so little for what you stole?”

“It can hardly be stealing when it throws itself at you,” came the response. 

Straker could hear angry undertones to the voice, but he was closer than the Japanese were. He was wondering what the hell he had gotten in to and how long it would be before his people would figure out he was missing. 

“Then you do not care what happens to the woman?” The sound of flesh striking flesh. Once, twice, three times. Then a yell as Miki’s teeth sank into the man’s hand.

Caleb moved toward the sound. He knew it was a trap. He slid around the end of the car, every nerve straining to find a target. It was unfortunate that others were as taut as he was. A black clad form materialized on the trunk, kicking the gun out of his hand; striking a blow at his head. He ducked, sweeping an arm across the surface, trying to remove his opponent. The man eluded him, moving to the roof of the car. 

Caleb dove for the cover afforded by the next car as someone opened up with a gun. The ninja, caught in the hail of bullets meant for Caleb, died. Inside the car, Straker was glad he was lying down. He found he was beginning to be able to move without outside prompting. Not much, but maybe enough to get out of the car before he got killed by accident. Under the cover of gunfire, he managed to get the door open, pulled himself to the opening and took a look around. He could see the blood from the dead body on top of the car. Nothing else.

Damn. He took a breath and was suddenly hauled out of the car bodily. He tried to resist, but was still enough under the influence of the drug to make his efforts feeble. The heavy set man who pulled him out of the car, leaned him back against the next vehicle over. A heavy hand slammed across his face, knocking his head sideways. Straker tried to brace himself for the next blow. It didn't come. The man got a distant look in his eyes, made an odd grunt and slowly fell backwards, away from Straker. There was a sturdy knife handle sticking out of his back.

"Come on," he heard Caleb's voice, a soft, annoyed hiss. 

He headed toward the sound, trying to keep down, to be unnoticeable. His foot slipped in a pool of blood, sending him to his knees, making a slight noise. He suspected his chances of survival would be less with his kidnapper's opponents than with his kidnapper. Talk about out of the fire and into the frying pan.

Lights. Very bright lights. The car carrying the yakuza thug force had come back. Its headlights were on high beams and two men walked along beside it carrying hand held halide lights. Straker shielded his eyes and stayed down. Caleb, caught in the open, was dazzled for a moment.

Tanaka walked over to the taller man, looked him up and down, hauled back a thick fingered fist and drove it deep into Caleb's belly, folding him over with a whuff of lost air. Any other man would have said his prayers and surrendered. Caleb reached for the other man even as he folded, blew out what little air remained in his lungs and head butted his attacker, snapping the man's head back in a manner calculated to cause whiplash injuries if not breakage. Tanaka's head snapped back, he saw stars and pulled away shaking his head. Caleb straightened, ignoring the pain in his stomach and looked to Miki who was being held between two healthy looking thugs. 

Half a dozen automatic slides being worked at once is not a sound one likes to hear when it's on the other side. One of the thugs holding Miki released her and crossed to where Straker was still down between the two cars. He politely offered the pale man a hand up, then escorted him out into the light. 

Tanaka looked the blond man up and down. His hot gaze went back to Caleb. "Your choice of companion is – questionable. Not much good in a fight, is he? Kill him," he told the thug.

"I wouldn't. Y'all know how I feel about people damaging what I consider mine," Caleb drawled, his voice filled with menace. 

Straker had to admire the sheer chutzpah of the man; standing there surrounded by men holding guns pointed at him, certain to die at a moment's notice; he spoke like he was in command of the situation. He moved from his spotlighted position to where Straker stood. A look caused the thug to remove his hand from Straker's arm. Caleb smiled. This wasn't the feral smile Straker had expected, it was the kind of smile that could turn a woman's knees to jelly in a fraction of a second. The man was one hell of an actor considering the situation and how they had come to be together. Caleb held out a hand to him.

// Dammit. Don't be a fool. Play along. // Caleb wanted to reach out and grab his captive, pull him into the dangerous game that might mean survival. But he had to wait, to see if this Straker had sense enough to play along. He showed none of his relief when the more slender built studio head took the proffered hand and stepped up next to his captor. If anything, his look was more arrogant than it had been as he turned to face Tanaka.

"This is not his fight. Let him go."

A cell phone twitter broke the tension. Tanaka took the call. Rapid fire Japanese. Caleb smoldered. Where the hell was that damnable cousin of his when he could use him? Tanaka concluded the call and looked around at Caleb and Straker with a most satisfied expression.

"Mr. Moorecock," he began with a mockingly distressed shake of his head. "How you try my patience. How you try to fool poor Tanaka. Much as I would like to kill you here and now, there are others who desire to express their appreciation of your interference. And you, Mr. Straker. Although Mr. Moorecock will not be collecting for your delivery tonight, I believe the Tanaka clan may benefit greatly by handing you over to our allies. The Black Dragons are most interested in you. I do not know why. But it will be profitable."

He smiled at them, his teeth white and even in his tanned face. "This way, gentlemen." He looked around at Miki. "Bring her."

It was a long drive inside a car with blacked out windows, including one between the driver and the passengers. Straker tried to keep the turns straight, but after a quarter of an hour gave up. The driver was turning randomly and would continue to do so for another ten minutes. He sat silently between his kidnapper and the more slender of the thugs. His cell phone was still in the pocket of his overcoat. His overcoat was in the coatroom at the function. Damn.

There had to be a way out of this. Something about the words "Black Dragons" had touched a chord in his kidnapper. Apparently Moorecock was the man's real name. It took a lot of unmitigated gall to use your own name while committing a crime. It took a lot of gall to stand up to – what had the man called it? Tanaka Clan? 

Alec Freeman looked grim. He nodded to the control room crew as SID reported a group of incoming spinners. Damn. Timing. He called Straker's cell phone. "Straker. Leave a message." He frowned at the phone in his hand. He looked at his watch. He knew the Commander. Straker should have been well away from that party by now. Alec didn't like the look of this. 

Security reported that the Commander's car was still at the party. Freeman dialed again. Three rings. 

"Hello?" A female voice, young, hesitant.

"Who is this?"

"Claudine, m'sieur. The phone, she is ringing in a coat. I answer it in case it is urgent, yes?" There was a muffled 'damn.' This did not surprise her.

"Do you remember the man who came in with the coat?"

"Oh, oui, m'sieur. He was very beautiful," the youthful voice told him. 

"Do you think you could find him?"

"Non. He is not here," she answered.

"What?"

"M'sieu left without his coat. He was with another man. Also very beautiful, but dark. I thought it was sad," her voice sounded sad.

Ed left with someone, without his coat and had left his car. Damn. Alec caught the girl's last words. "What? Why?"

"Because it is always sad when two beautiful men are together. They do not want beautiful women," she said wistfully. 

Alec choked. "Thank you." He cut the connection swiftly. He really didn’t want to think about the woman's train of thought and it was entirely unlike Straker. He'd been kidnapped. Damn. 

He called Paul Foster, yanking him out of a sound sleep. "Paul."

Foster went from comatose to instantly alert. "What’s happened?"

"We've got action and Straker's missing."

"Missing? How?"

"That gala he went to tonight. He left his coat and his car."

Foster frowned. "They can't –"

"They're agents could."

Damn. Cryptic speak on the phone just did not do justice to all the questions he wanted to ask. "I'll collect the coat."

"And keep your head down."

Paul's eyes widened slightly at that. Click. Disconnect. He hurried into his clothes, pocketed a number of false ID's that might get him information, and slammed out of his flat at speed. A couple of late dates coming into the block of flats wondered what made the man burn rubber at this hour. 

Alec, concerned, but aware that the threat from above was more important than the threat down here, returned to his usual spot in control. He watched and nodded as the superbly trained ground control team coordinated with Moon Base to eradicate the incoming spinners. The Moon Based interceptor fleet scored three kills, but the fourth ship took off at a tangent before the battle was joined. 

Alec looked grim. He hated the kamikaze strike forces the aliens sent against them. To get one ship through, they would sacrifice three others. He wasn't fond of the finances backing the aliens either. To be able to throw ships against SHADO’s wall the way they could; apparently never counting cost at all. And Straker had to fight for every thin farthing SHADO could get. 

He shook his head. A million dollar money maker over their heads that wasn't allowed to make money because it was part of the budget, and the nip-farthing idiots at the Astro Commission whining every time Straker presented the budget they needed. He snorted in disgust, then realized he was still standing in Control. 

One of the younger lieutenants turned in his seat, a frown on his face. "Col. Freeman, tracking places the fourth craft over -- " He looked up at Alec as he spoke. "About 150 kilometers outside London. North."

Alec felt cold. 150k wasn't that far from where they were. A two hour drive. "Give me an approximation. Get the Mobiles moving. Where's Sky 1?"

"Persian Gulf, sir," someone else answered. 

"Sky 2?"

"On its way, sir."

Now, he had to pray Sky 2 found the thing in the air, or the Mobiles found it on the ground before it found Straker. There was no doubt in his mind that the missing SHADO Commander and the alien craft north of London were connected. 

 

North of London, a frazzled Alien:

He bubbled his liquid cussing at the controls of his craft. Dammit all, why did they have to send him in to do this? He'd flown 50 missions already. That was supposed to be it. He was supposed to get rotated home now. But, no! One more mission. This one's important. This one is for glory. This one is for – defecating draj entrails. This one is the one that gets you killed so you can't go home. This one is the one that -- North, dammit. Not toward the city. He cussed mentally at his craft which sniffed haughtily in return.

// flen. //

// draj //

// grenj greljr //

// idiot. //

// !!!!! //

The pilot felt self satisfied at winning that round of insults. He turned to see how the two grunts behind him were faring. They looked green. He allowed himself a small smile at the joke. Now, if he could just maneuver the malcontent, malfunctioning, misbegotten …

// I heard that. //

He set the craft down on a small patch of greensward and thanked whatever demon gods were listening for the landing. At least he didn't have to get out of the craft. That he left to the soldiers behind him. "Warriors of renown", he didn't think. What were they doing here?

Ah, yes. Collecting the Leader. He watched the other two clamber out of the craft. He snorted. Fat chance. They were here to die. 

// die? //

// dissolution //

// dddddddddd --- no! //

// ?? //

// no die. not – no. leave. //

// orders. //

// mental picture of anatomically impossible sexual position //

// suggestion or comment? //

// consent // Long silence as they sat and waited. // leave? //

// mock aghast reaction. --- soon enough. let them fail. //

// initial failure external systems zero minus 19 hours //

// noted //

If he left without the gung ho types, it would not reflect well on his records, but it might get him home. Home. He had been gone so long, he wondered if the world had changed. Probably not. Snort. Then why was he bothering to want to go back.

The alien sat in his craft in a blue funk, trapped in the parameters of being a military pilot on a fool's mission.

 

Paul Foster arrived at the gala just as things were hotting up. The doorman was supremely unimpressed by Mr. Foster's state of dress. He was more impressed by the badge. And the fifty pound note pressed into his hand just seemed to make him smile on the day. He let Foster in with a curt nod and a barely heard "I never seen ya."

Paul looked around for the hatcheck area, located it and was about to saunter over without a care in the world when the assistant head of a rival production company boomed out his name. His spine tried to crawl right up into the back of his cranium. He took a breath, turned and tried not to flinch as the woman engulfed him in a massive hug. Oh god. 

MayBelle FitzHardin grinned maliciously as she bear hugged the incredibly gorgeous hunk that was Straker's third in command. She loosened her grip and leaned back. "Well, honey, I didn't expect to see you here after the head honcho put in an appearance. But I *am* soooo glad you did, darlin'." She finally released him completely. 

It wasn't that MayBelle was ugly. She wasn't. For a woman of her size, she was quite – comely, in an overbearing, *this is my empire and I get what I want* sort of way. MayBelle stood six foot two without heels, weighed in at about 200, spread in impressive, solid packed curves over the generous length and topped with a mass of color change hair that was never quite the same two weeks running. Right now she was sporting a rich auburn mane that flared out around her face in thick curls.

"MayBelle, now nice to see you. Yes, I know the boss was here earlier. He left his coat, and since I was on my way to an appointment and the route took me past here, I said I'd pick it up for him."

"Mmmm. And that late night appointment? Your boss? A lady friend?"

"Ah – no telling. Strictly confidential."

"Mmm. And your boss's new boy toy? Is that confidential, too?"

Paul bristled inwardly. Outwardly, he remained cool, composed, professional. He was going to wring her neck – but not now. He raised his expressive eyebrows and met her gaze directly.

"You haven't seen him? Tall, taller than Straker. Black hair you'd just love to run your fingers through. Eyes like midnight in a coal cellar – well, maybe dark chocolate in a coal cellar, but it doesn't scan nearly as well. Wonderful mouth." She let her mind wander for a moment thinking about mouths. She brought her gaze back to Paul. "Slightly southern accent. Just too damn gorgeous not to be an actor – or gay."

Paul looked superior. "Gay? If the man is talented, it makes no difference. That's why it's called "acting"," he shot back sweetly.

MayBelle laughed. "Well, he seemed to be shepherding *your* Mr. Straker out of here in a most – solicitous manner."

"Did you get a name?"

"Don't you know?" Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink. 

Paul was beginning to feel like he was caught in a Monty Python skit with no end. "No. But then I hardly know all the hack actors in London, do I?"

"Oooo, nasty boy." She smacked his arm playfully. "Well, I overheard one of the servers talking about him. Let me think – oh, yes. Such a delightful name. Moore – cock, I do believe." She drew the name out salaciously.

"Moorecock. No first name?"

"Sorry. The discussion was – well, indelicate, to say the least. Speculative, if you take my meaning."

"MayBelle, you are as subtle as a rhinoceros in heat."

That got a laugh. Her eyes sparkled as she brought them back to bear on the audacious young man. Not so young, these days. But audacious, very audacious. "Well, one does get what one – advertises for," she told him with a grin. "Anyway, they left together, seeming very chummy. Maybe you'll meet when you deliver the coat."

"As you say. Good night, MayBelle."

"G’nite, darlin'." She blew him a kiss and sauntered away. 

Paul watched her go, the generously curved hips swaying under the folds of heavy silk skirt. He pulled his thoughts back into line and went to collect Straker's overcoat. The hatcheck girl was the one Alec had spoken to. She was not enthusiastic about letting Mr. Straker's coat go, but the nice fat tip Paul offered did wonders for her optimism. She gave Paul a speculative look and smiled provocatively. Paul took her phone number and promised to call. She didn't see him crumple the paper and toss it away as soon as he got outside.

He found the phone in the pocket as he checked Straker's car. Nothing. He called Alec and relayed the information. A quick check with the gala's host revealed that the original guest list did not include Mr. Moorecock. Paul and Alec fumed. Dammit. 

"See if you can find out anything from the doorman."

"Done." Expensive proposition, but not impossible. The fuss that accounting was going to put up made him chuckle. He got a description of the car. Non-descript. License plate obscured or otherwise unnoticeable. The second car, however, that was something else.

"Second car?"

"Yes, sir. That was odd, I particularly took note of it." Particular note generated more bills. Description, make, model, license plate and a number of decidedly *not* English occupants. 

"Thank you!"

Paul phoned in again, this time directly to the security watch commander. He read off the license plate and pulled out of the car park in the direction taken by the two vehicles. Ten minutes later he was pulled over and parked, fuming. 

"Embassy??"

"I'm sorry, sir. It's registered to the Japanese Embassy. I'm trying to find out if that vehicle is out tonight, but I haven't reached anyone who can answer the question yet."

"Tell the Mobiles to keep an eye out for it. Just a hunch –"

"But your hunches have played out well before, sir. I'll pass the word."

"Thanks."

He sat and thought. Then he got another bright idea. Hotels. Why not? It was a long shot, but worth the try. He called in to security again and requested the search. He also requested the coordinates of the suspected landing. Might as well do something useful while he was out and awake.

The car carrying Straker and Caleb stopped, parked. The doors opened and the two men were pulled out of the back and hustled into a massive manor house. The men surrounding them split up, two taking Straker to a stone walled room, while the remainder escorted Miki and Caleb elsewhere. The room was average size, round, the ceiling disappearing into the darkness overhead. The light came from outside, a full moon. There was one bed. Odd. It was a bed. A single bed. Not a cot. Not just some rags on the floor. He walked over and examined it. Dusty.

He paced the circumference of the room. He tried to figure out if he could get to the window if he used the bed as a ladder. He searched his pockets for change, found a penny and tossed it up and out, apparently. No glass. Wonderful. Was there rain forecast for tonight?

Time passed. He grew thirsty. At least his body seemed back under his own control. He would have to find out what that stuff was and find an antidote, an antitoxin, something. That was one of the more frightening experiences of his long career. He was getting tired.

The door opened, outward, and someone was tossed in. The door slammed closed. The body rolled onto its back with a groan and a soft cuss. 

"Moorecock."

He was fast. Caleb was on his feet almost before he finished identifying the voice. "Straker."

"Yes." There was a satisfied sound to that word. 

"Planning on taking up where Tanaka left off?"

"No. I'd need a gun for that. What is going on, if it's not too much trouble to ask."

"An error in judgment," came the sinister reply.

"Explain?"

"Tanaka wants to carry on a blood feud. But he's also trying to cement bonds with a local clan and with – well, some other people. I don't think it will work."

"And me?"

Caleb's dark eyes flickered over the pale splotch floating even with his own head that was all he could see of Straker. "I think sleep is a good idea. Whatever happens is scheduled for morning. I'm tired." He crossed the room cautiously, avoiding Straker. He pushed on the mattress, apparently found its springiness adequate and stretched out on the bed with his back to the wall. 

Straker walked across the room and sat down on the floor. It was made of flagstones. It was cold and uneven. Caleb leaned up on one elbow. "Oh, that makes sense. Even if the opportunity to escape presents itself, you'll be too stiff to do anything about it."

"You want the floor?" Straker inquired pleasantly.

"No. There's plenty of room on the bed."

"There's a kidnapper on the bed."

"A captive kidnapper. And you're still captive with him. Afraid of me?"

Afraid … "No."

"Then there's no sense in sitting on the floor all night."

Straker got up, crossed to the bed and hesitated. Caleb grinned up at him, he could sense it. He carefully stretched out along the very front edge of the bed, preternaturally aware of the man behind him.

"I don't bite – often," Caleb offered. 

"*That's* supposed to make me comfortable?"

"No." Caleb reached over and pulled Straker farther onto the mattress. "That is. Get some sleep," he said, removing the offending arm. He almost laughed at how tense his forced companion had become at his touch. Caleb closed his eyes and dropped into sleep, untroubled by worries about tomorrow.

Straker listened as the deep; even breathing behind him slowed and became shallower, indicating that the man had fallen asleep. He listened to the minute noises of the countryside coming through the window. Somewhere, staring into the darkness, he missed his own transition into sleep.   
Security finally called Paul with a hotel room number. He pulled into the car park and looked for a place to put his car. He pulled into an empty slot and was walking back to the elevator when he caught a smell. He stopped, sniffed. Odd. He looked around. A midsize car with nothing to recommend it sat between two expensive models. The license was obscured with dirt. His foot slid in a sticky puddle as he stepped up beside the vehicle. He touched it with a finger. Blood. He called security. 

“Get a crew out here. I think I found the car. There’s a large puddle of blood on the passenger side, looks like blood ran down from the top. I’d like to make certain it isn’t anyone we know.”

“Yes, sir.”

He went upstairs to find the room. He walked carefully down the silent corridor until he found the right door. He tried the door and discovered it was unlocked. He pulled his gun and pushed the door open. The room was empty. It looked as though there had been a struggle. He looked around. One room had obvious feminine touches and clothing, lots of clothing. It was strewn all over the room. He picked through the items looking for some sort of clue. 

Nothing. Not even any pictures. That was odd. He looked around again. He was right. Not a photo in site. That meant one thing. Professionals. Damn. He went on to the other occupied bedroom. Male. Neat. Dark hair in the hairbrush. Long for a man. Ok, shaggy dark hair. From the clothes, tall, probably around his own height but a little more slender. Lots of cotton knit turtleneck pullovers, loose silk tailored shirts, tailored pants, lots of expensive clothes. The oriental chest revealed heavy silk kimonos, most of them black, and several pairs of Japanese pants. Under the clothing lay three swords. A matched katana and wakazashi that looked old and a straighter Japanese blade in a plain scabbard. The latter looked like it was used.

He put the weapons carefully back in the chest. Other drawers revealed ammunition for a .9mm pistol, but no pistol. And then there was the small leather pouch that contained a variety of ID cards. Driver’s licenses; health cards, four passports under different names and all with the same picture. Paul felt a glow of pleasure at finding the cache. 

There was nothing else in the suite to tell him anything. There was a fireplace in the sitting area. It had been used. There were fresh ashes. The probability was that any written plans were in the ashes. He called in to security again, giving description and the names on the various IDs.

“Good work, Paul.”

“Alec. Any word yet?”

“No. The ship's down. We’ve people on the way. You want to turn in?”

“No. I’ll head out. Never know, I might spot something. Has the unit gotten to the car yet?”

“Yes. Blood’s O positive. Not Straker’s. Looks like someone slipped in the puddle. We’ve got a hand print. Hold on “ There was the sound of consultation in the background. “The print is Straker’s. He was still alive when the blood was fresh. Less than two hours ago.”

“Chances are he’s still alive, then.”

“Looks like it. Get going.”

“I’ll be in touch.” He checked in with the unit downstairs as he left, giving them the room number. Maybe they could find something he hadn’t. Maybe.

Security ran the names and came up with pictures. Alec scowled at the shots. Arrogant bastard. With the name from MayBelle, they cross referenced the forged ID information and began to get a picture of Caleb Moorecock. What was bewildering was that the man had a Swiss bank account with a healthy balance in it and several million dollars in investments, which fed large amounts of interest dividends into the Swiss bank account. There was no connection to Straker.

Security would continue its research while Paul, the Mobile Units and Sky2 tried to locate the alien craft they were now certain had landed. If they were lucky, they would find it before the occupants found the Commander.

The Mobiles spent a long, thankless night searching for the parked spinner. Morning dawned with the crews yawning and frustrated. Paul Foster had joined Mobile 1 and was downing his fourth cup of black coffee in an effort to stay alert as the quartered the countryside looking for the spinner they knew had to be there. They avoided visual contact with the old manor house in the area. 

Sky2 had returned to base, refueled and acquired a new pilot before taking off to continue to cross the sky seeking any sign of the silvery surface of the spinner. The sun kissed the horizon and still there was no sign of the elusive alien craft. 

Birds, their days ordered by the rise and set of the sun, burst into song to greet the day. A number of them were gathered outside the window of the cell containing Straker and Moorecock. Caleb, awakened by the twittering of English sparrows and other birds, wondered if it was legal to take a sword to the little feathered nuisances. He froze as the door to the cell opened.

“Caleb.” Miki stood there in the doorway.

He leaned up behind Straker who was also wide-awake and not showing it. “Miki. What brings you here?”

“An unconscious guard and an incredible desire to be away from here before my father or the Dragons arrive. You agree?”

“Yes. Coming?” The latter was addressed to Straker who was still feigning sleep.

Cold blue eyes came open and gave Caleb a look that should have sizzled him. “It could be a trap.”

“Yes. It could be,” Caleb agreed. “But I suspect Miki is sincere in her desire to escape. Her father’s plans of uniting clans with her as the cement are not to her taste. Shall we?” He slid off the bed and stood up, stretching to get the kinks engendered by a night of non-movement out of his muscles.

Straker, with four hours of undisturbed sleep under his belt, came to his feet feeling pretty good for a man who had been drugged and held captive for several hours. He looked at his two unexpected companions in escape and waited for a plan to develop. Miki led the way out of the manor, into the well-maintained garden that surrounded the manor house. Unfortunately, she also led them directly into the meeting that was taking place in the formal garden.

“Shit!” she said under her voice as she realized that they had blundered into the meeting. Caleb and Straker came to an abrupt halt behind her. 

Caleb, taking a look around the girl and the edge of the hedge she was standing at the end of, became a carved statue. Straker frowned at him, wondering what that was all about, and wishing he could get a look and see what was happening to stop the girl and Caleb.

Miki’s attention was caught by the sight of Tanaka and his immediate supporters in formal meeting with a couple of men she recognized as contacts with the Black Dragons. She was more worried about running into the Tanaka Clan people than she was their allies. The Dragons would care nothing about her ...that made her think for a moment. If they cared nothing about her, that meant they would dispose of her as it suited them. Not the best of situations. She started to back up and found Caleb immobile behind her.

She looked up and saw a pair of very off looking eyes in a face carved from marble. Oh, boy. She knew that look. Caleb was upset. She looked back at the tableau, none of the participants having yet noticed their intrusion, and tried to figure out what was setting him off. Not Tanaka. That was a take or leave situation. The Dragons? Possible, but not probable. If Raven-san or his son had been here, she could see him reacting that way, but not as things stood now. She looked again. She spotted the duo in the freaky orange suits again. She shrugged her shoulders in incomprehension.

Miki tugged at Caleb’s coat. He looked down, remote and unreachable looking. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested.

For a moment, it was as though he was staring at something alien and incomprehensible, then he became Caleb again and nodded. He took Straker’s arm to bring him along. Ed pulled away, annoyed with the familiarity and with the assumption of authority. He took a look himself and his face did a creditable imitation of the stone statue effect. Aliens. He glared at Caleb.

“Traitor,” he branded the man under his breath, missing the nuances of Caleb’s own reactions and ignoring that Caleb and the young woman were actively helping him escape instead of yelling for help. He met Caleb’s dark gaze for a moment and nearly backed up from the cold fury he could read there. Maybe there was more to the situation than he’d managed to extrapolate so far. Something had changed. 

Shouts in Japanese broke his train of thought. He looked around. Damn. They’d been spotted. He didn’t have time to look for cover before his kidnapper grabbed him and shoved him into the hedge. Time did one of its adrenalin-enhanced dilations. Several of the Yakuza guards pulled weapons and moved toward where Caleb, Miki and Straker stood. Caleb moved swiftly, taking out a couple of the guards and stripping them of their guns.

He tossed one of the guns to Straker as Miki, her eyes wide and panicked looking, dived for cover. Caleb strode into the gathering, gun blazing. Yakuza, Black Dragons and aliens scattered under his attack. He emptied one gun and dropped it. He was among the Yakuza guards by then. He leaned down and took two guns off one of the wounded men.

Straker, firing from the cover of the hedge, was picking his shots and wondering if he really needed to keep Miki from having hysterics beside him. The girl had stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from making noise. He took a chance to see what Caleb was up to and was shocked to see him striding across the open area of the garden like a death god incarnate. Men fell before him, firing and apparently missing. Straker frowned. It looked like the man was hunting the two orange suited, silver helmeted figures, both of which were trying to fade into the rose bushes beyond the open area.

He was right. Caleb Moorecock had temporarily forgotten his captive. He had forgotten Miki. He had forgotten the Tanaka Clan, save where it got between him and his objective. And he had forgotten that there were representatives of the Black Dragon ninja clan there to take him captive and kill him. The last was nearly his downfall.

One of the Dragons, realizing that Caleb was intent on their allies and not on the clan representatives, took the opportunity to stalk Caleb. He drew the sword he carried, a barely curved blade that Paul Foster would have recognized as cousin to the one he found in Caleb’s suite. He moved silently behind the intent hunter. At the last moment, Caleb turned slightly, the appropriated gun moving as a part of him. He shot the man as he lifted the sword for a killing stroke. 

Caleb, his gun empty, dropped the useless weapon and took the blade from the dying assassin’s hands. He turned toward his quarry again and saw one of them raise the familiar rifle. But the gun wasn’t aimed at him. He frowned and took a quick look around. The fair-haired studio head he’d kidnapped was standing clear of the end of the hedge. The alien was taking careful aim at the man.

“Down!” he barked and dove at the orange suited figure. He sliced the alien along the edge of the attachment area for the helmet. Green fluid spewed and the alien fell to its knees, spasmodically pulling the trigger of its gun as it fell. Bullets whined around Straker, one striking him high on the right shoulder. He reeled back, swearing mentally at his own folly, and taking cover behind the hedge again. 

The second alien fired once, at close range, before falling to Caleb’s borrowed blade. The second Black Dragon advanced, his own blade held at the ready. The rest of the gunfire had died down leaving bodies and wounded littering the area. Silence. Caleb turned to face his final enemy. 

The two men, one stocky and oriental, the other long and lean, faced each other. The Dragon tried to read his opponent. Caleb’s face was immutable, unreadable, motionless. The man was a statue, the only life in his dark eyes, eyes that burned with an insane anger. They stood, each waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

The Mobile units had converged on the manor with the eruption of shots in the early morning. Paul Foster, leading the team into the grounds, came upon the tableau. This was insane. He stopped next to Straker to check him. He’d been hit, but only in the shoulder and the tiny oriental woman with him was neatly tending to the wound.

He started to walk toward the two swordsmen. The stalemate broke in a flurry of motion. They moved past each other, each taking a strike against the other. They stopped, five paces apart. The Dragon sighed and went down, his neck spurting blood into the grass. Caleb let his point drop. His shoulders sagged. He looked around at Foster and blinked.

Two of the other Mobile personnel came into the area with Tanaka who was seething. Caleb caught site of him and started moving again. He brushed past Foster like he wasn’t there. He stopped in front of Tanaka who read his death in the man’s eyes and quit complaining about the treatment he was being accorded. The point of his sword flashed and came to rest at Tanaka’s throat.

“Tell Osato his quarrel is with me. Osato Makiko is dead to him, to the clan, to the Yakuza. Another attempt on Miki, and I will hunt him down like a dog. You understand?”

Tanaka looked into those burning eyes and nodded. “I will deliver your message,” he agreed curtly.

The sword dropped. Caleb gave a curt nod, turned away, went to his knees and collapsed onto the grass, unconscious. Miki cried out his name and ran to his side. Paul gestured for one of the men to check him out. The man helped Miki turn Caleb over. His coat fell open revealing a blood soaked shirt beneath. The second alien had not missed. Miki looked up, tears streaming down her face. 

“Help him. Please.” Her voice was soft, pleading; her eyes big, dark and scared in her small ivory face. She looked to Straker. 

He nodded. “Keep him alive.”

Paul looked at Straker as he got to his feet with assistance. He was rumpled and had a bullet hole in his shoulder. Otherwise, he looked remarkably fit for a man who had been kidnapped and held captive for 14 hours.

“Are you all right?” He was mentally calculating just how they were going to handle the number of people involved in this encounter. 

“I’ve got a hole in my shoulder and I’ve been kidnapped. Other than that, I’m fine. How’s Moorecock?”

Shrug. “Medical will let us know. They’re getting him ready for transport.” Paul’s attitude said he didn’t really care if the man made it or not. 

They watched as the medical techs finished hooking up saline IVs and settling an oxygen mask on their patient. Thick padding that compressed his wound and absorbed the sluggish bleeding obscured his chest. 

Miki was hovering just behind the men working on him. She was muttering in Japanese, pleading with whatever gods were listening to keep him alive. Tears streamed down her face as she watched. // Please, please, let him live. Caleb-san is all I have. Keep him alive. Please, please, listen. Please let him live. //

Straker moved closer, taking a look at the two alien bodies and overhearing her words. He recognized a few of them. “Miss Osato.”

She nearly spun to turn and look up at him. Her eyes were frightened. “I go with him?”

“Yes. You’re all right?”

“I – am unhurt,” she lied, the bruise on her face telling the truth. “But Caleb-san – he – “

One of the medical personnel looked up. “Ready to transport, Commander.” He shot a pointed look at the Commander’s shoulder. “Both of you.”

Straker gave a resigned sigh and nodded. Alec and Paul would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t let medical take a look at his shoulder. He followed the gurney to the ambulance and climbed in behind one of the techs. Miki waited at the doorway, her eyes pleading to go with them, but not wanting to force the issue. He held out a hand to her to help her in. The tech scowled at her.

“Next of kin,” Straker lied. He didn’t know why he was helping one of his kidnappers, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He looked down at the face of his kidnapper. Unconscious, he looked younger, not nearly so dangerous. 

Darkness. While SHADO medical personnel labored to keep Caleb from bleeding to death, he was aware of being in the dark somewhere. He floated. He remembered being angry. He remembered Makiko looking scared. He remembered something flickering in a pair of pale eyes that held him.

“You do the damnedest things.”

He spun to face – darkness. He knew the voice. He’d heard it before. A long time ago – yet not so long ago. He scowled into the dark. A form became solid, and visible. Tall, slender build, hair just about shoulder length and pale. Elongated dark eyes that didn’t quite meet his one black gaze. “You. What do you want this time.”

The other looked surprised. “Me? I didn’t want anything last time. You just needed some help getting your head clear.”

Snort. “Sure. I’m dieing and I need to get my head clear.”

“You did. You needed to help him find his boy. You did that. You needed to help the woman get her own head clear about what she wanted. You did that.”

“She wanted him. The boy wanted him. I did a wonderful job of family counseling,” he sneered.

“You saved the girl.”

“She saved herself.”

“Liar.” He met his son’s hot gaze calmly. 

“You’re dead. You know nothing,” Caleb spat at the man.

“I’m dead,” he agreed. “But I still know what’s what. So, you staying or going back?”

“I have a choice?”

“Yes.”

Caleb frowned at the other man. “I have a choice?”

“That’s what I said. You have a choice. You can die. Abandon the girl. Leave the man to continue down the road to destruction. Let it all go.”

“Or?” He hated himself for asking, but he had to know the price for the alternate side.

“Or you can wait until you have no choice,” came the soft drawled answer.

Caleb said something obscene and probably blasphemous in several languages to express his exact feelings about what he was being told. “Osato won’t just let it drop, will he?”

“Osato, Hiroshi is the least of your worries.”

“I hate when you say things like that. Chey’s not in danger, is she?”

A smile curved the other man’s sensual lips. “No. She’s not. Nor is the child she carries.”

“Child?”

“Child.”

Caleb got a crooked grin at that. Well, well. So, his cousin was going to be a daddy again. Maybe he should stick around long enough to go back and check in on Jon and his family; see how the man held up under the onslaught of children.

“Miki needs you.”

“She needs a man, but not necessarily me. She’s never been more than fond of me.”

“And you?”

A careless shrug. Thinking about it, he’d allowed Miki to seduce him, to talk him into removing her from her father’s care, because he did not care for Osato and the Yakuza clan he led. Did he love the little Japanese woman? Not the way Jonathan loved Chey and she loved him in return. He presumed love, le grande passion, was beyond his ability to feel.

“I can live without her.”

“So you can. But will it make a difference?”

“Did it make a difference to you?”

The sly eyes met his directly. “Yes.”

Shock. Confusion. Caleb was bereft of speech, of thought. He stared into the depths of those dark eyes and saw something he had never expected. Pain. Emotional pain. He had always seen his father, once he knew of him, as aloof, untouched, cold. He sensed that this was far from the truth. 

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

“Thought you’d get around to that. So far, no one’s bothered to explain. I just seem to be around, maybe in case you or Jonathan need me. I don’t know. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to duck?

Snort. “Sometimes, there isn’t time.”

“You going back?”

“Not much point. Prison doesn’t agree with me.”

“It’s not supposed to do so.”

“I don’t see a reason to go back.”

“You will.”

Scowl.

The surgery had gone well. The several pints of blood had brought him up to a full quotient of fluid in his veins. He was stable, sleeping when they wheeled him into a private room in the medical center. The nurse on duty checked on him once an hour, nodding at the little Japanese girl who sat so silently watching him, watching the monitors. 

The fourth hour after surgery, Miki noted that his heartbeat had slowed slightly. She frowned at that. She was hungry and thirsty, but she had a feeling that to leave for any length of time might be a bad idea. She moved her chair closer to the bed. She could watch the monitors and his face. He was so relaxed. The furrow between his eyebrows was almost smoothed out. He looked so remote. 

A touch of panic touched her thoughts. No. Foolish. He had lost blood. He had lost a lot of blood. But the wound was not dangerous. The doctors were confident they had repaired the damage. Yet as she sat and watched him, she sensed something the doctors would not see. Caleb was not working on waking up.

“Caleb,” she called softly. “Caleb, don’t go. Please. I need you. Caleb –“She watched the monitors. She knew when she and Chey had talked to him after he had helped Jonathan Raven find his son, the monitors has shown minute variations when they got through to him. She looked for those variations. Nothing. She reached out and took his hand in hers and talked to him, pleading with him to stay with her.

She watched as the heart monitor lost two more beats a minute. Soon, there would not be enough beats to chase his blood around his body. There had to be something she could do. The man Caleb had kidnapped. He felt protective of the man when he was betrayed. Perhaps she could find a way to play on that. She tried to remember where the man was lodged. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, hoping she would not meet anyone else before she found the man she sought.

Ed Straker was sleeping lightly. He came completely awake, aware that someone had entered his room. He reached for the light switch. The young Japanese woman who had barely left his kidnapper's side since he came out of surgery had stopped about halfway from the doorway to the side of his bed. She did not blink; unshed tears leaving her eyes less light sensitive. She was staring at him. He frowned.  
   
"Miss Osato."  
   
She swallowed hard and nodded. "Please -- I need your help," she told him, her touch of accent barely noticeable beyond the choke of tears in her voice.  
   
"What's wrong?"  
   
"He -- Caleb -- He's not coming back. I need you to call him back."

He continued to frown. He wasn’t tracking this conversation very well. “I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with –“

“Straker-sama, please.” She caught his hand and pulled slightly. “Please. He won’t listen to me. He won’t come back for me. You make him listen. You make him come back.”

Understanding her desperation if not the cause, he freed his hand, pulled back the sheets and slipped off the bed. He slid his feet into slippers and grabbed a robe left on the back of the chair next to the bed as he followed Miki back to Caleb’s room. Monitor’s beeped, lines squiggled up and down, everything looked normal. Only it didn’t look normal to Miki. He looked at her and tried to understand what she was worried about. She realized that he wasn’t getting it.

“Heart monitor.”

He glanced at the indicated monitor. Then he looked at it again. Wasn’t 72 beats per minute normal? Caleb’s monitor was registering about 55. That wasn’t good. He reached for the nurse’s call button. Miki caught his hand.

“No. Talk to him. Call him back. He will not come back for me. Call him back.” He could hear the barely contained tears in her voice. She was frightened, terrified that Caleb would die. 

“The doctor –“

“No!” She was emphatic. She searched his pale-eyed face for understanding. It wasn’t there. She tried to think of how to explain why she needed him to call. “When he was shot in Hawaii, Raven-san and Hikari called him back. They talked to him. They told him he could not leave. They called him back. Chey helped them, but mostly it was Raven-sama and his son.” She could tell he was beginning to understand what she wanted, in spite of her incomplete ability to make English say what she wanted it to. “He will not come back for a woman. The only woman who could call him back is dead.”

“The – “

“His mother. She is dead. He might have listened to her voice calling him. He will not listen to me. He will listen to you – Raven-san cannot get here in time. He is leaving. I cannot lose him. Not now. Please.” She sank to her knees beside the bed, looking from the relaxed face to Straker and back. “Please,” she whispered as her tears began to fall in earnest. She took Caleb’s relaxed hand in hers and held it, just watching him.

It occurred to the man she’d dragged out of sleep, that letting Caleb die would solve a lot of problems. He glanced down at the woman holding Caleb’s hand and praying for him to return to her. No. He could deal with the problems presented by their inclusion in an alien incident later. For now, the woman, little more than a child, needed her partner.

He pulled up the chair and sat down in it. “Moorecock. Caleb. Listen to me. I know you can hear me. You’re still needed here. You might as well stick around and see what happens.”

Was that a quiver? Miki, her eyes fastened on Caleb’s face, was listening to the rhythm of the monitor. Would it pick up? Or would it drop again? A frown flickered over the sleeping man’s face. The number of beats increased. Miki blinked, shedding the tears in her eyes. She looked around at Straker; a small smile curved her lips.

He frowned at Caleb. What else could he say? “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for – changing your mind. I don’t know why you changed your mind. I don’t know who most of those people were, but I do know that if you and Miss Osato hadn’t been there, my people would not have arrived in time to keep the aliens from removing me from my current position. I am very grateful to you for what you’ve done.”

“I should know better,” came the sleepy drawl. Caleb blinked at him and frowned at Miki. He returned her handclasp and drew her up off the floor. “You might keep her off the floor.”

Miki gave a watery chuckle. “You tried to go away,” she accused gently. She had a grip on her fear now.

He shrugged his shoulders and flinched as he pulled fresh stitches. “I don’t like hospitals.”

That got a real laugh. She looked around at Straker, her face glowing with happiness. She let go of Caleb long enough to give the surprised SHADO Commander a hug. “Thank you, Straker-sama. I could not do it. You made him come back.”

“Miki. I hadn’t gone anywhere.”

She ignored him and continued to hug Straker. Then she realized that he was wincing from the force of her hug. “Oh, Straker-sama! I am sorry! I forgot – I take you back now. He will not try to go away again – not this time. Thank you.” She bobbed an honoring bow over his hand. 

She walked him back to his room and saw him safely into his own bed, bubbling in a mixture of English and Japanese. She stopped in the doorway before he turned his light out again. “Truly, Straker-sama. I am most grateful. You will not regret calling him back. I promise.”

“Get some rest.”

“Hai, Straker-sama,” she agreed, bobbing her head. She dashed back down the corridor to Caleb, a smile on her face. She stopped in the doorway to respectfully wait until the doctor on duty was finished checking Caleb’s readings. Then she settled in the chair next to the bed, took possession of Caleb’s free hand again and went to sleep, a smile on her face. Later she would face what would come from Caleb’s ill-fated kidnapping of Straker. For now, she had Caleb and she was content.

Elsewhere, Alec Freeman was looking over reports on Osato Makiko, Osato Hiroshi, Jonathan Raven, Cheyenne Raven and Hikari D’Angelo No Sato Barrigan. He was not happy. Hiroshi Osato, to give his name in the order the English and Americans usually used, was Yakuza clan head based in Hawaii. Makiko was his runaway daughter. Jonathan Raven was a retired covert ops agent. Cheyenne Phillips Raven, tall, golden haired, dark eyed and stunningly gorgeous to Alec’s approving look, was the sister of a Native American bounty hunter. He was still waiting on the results of reports on Robert Sixkiller and Herman “Ski” Jablonski. It was going to be an interesting week until Caleb and Makiko were able to undergo the amnesia inducing treatment that would rid them of all knowledge of aliens, Straker and SHADO. 

He settled in for the night watch and hoped it would be much more quiet than the last 24 hours had been.

End

Caleb and Miki continue their relations with SHADO in Of Players, Aliens and SHADO Ops.


End file.
